Through the Eyes of the Homeless
by johnsarmylady
Summary: A quick run through from the Great Game to Reichenbach, seeing a friendship in action through the eyes of one homeless girl...Kallie.


**Just a one-shot that presented itself as I ate lunch.  
>Enjoy<br>Disclaimer: I only own my original Characters and storyline...**

In all the time I had known him he had worked alone – Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, friend to the homeless and all round loner.

So when I saw the short, fair haired man following in his wake I was a little surprised.

"Come along John." He had called out, and the short man went with him.

That winter we had much to thank 'John' for, for it turned out that he was more than just a new friend to Mr Holmes, he was also a doctor.

Holmes would never admit that he cared what happened to us, but he was fooling no-one with his impression that it was solely for 'the Work' that he came to us. He came looking for the kind of answers only we could give and discovered me trying to help 'Chelsea Nell' ease her coughing.

Immediately he asked John to take a look at her, and with no more than eyes and hands he diagnosed pneumonia.

He recognised, as very few do, that to insist on Nell going to hospital would be the death of her – There are many reasons we are as we are and forcing us into an institution which will insist it knows what's best for us just reinforces some of those reasons.

"Kallie" he said, taking me to one side. "I'm going to go and get some medicine that should help her through this – hopefully we've caught it in time. Keep her warm, make sure that none of the clothing she's wearing is damp, I'll be back shortly."

And with that they were gone – both of them. Whatever it was that Holmes wanted had been put aside while the doctor tended to our Nell.

True to his word John was back within the hour, with medicines, packets of soup that could be made up for her, and some worn but clean blankets that he had scrounged from his landlady.

He asked me to stay with her, and make sure that she took her medicine at regular intervals – he even left me with his watch so I could keep a track of the time, saying that when I was finished with it I could return it.

Then he stood up and looked at the faces around the brazier.

"If Nell gets worse I want one of you to come and find me." He ordered clearly and quietly. "You know where Sherlock and I live; if we're not there Mrs Hudson can get word to me." Pausing to make sure everyone understood John added "and the rest of you, if you are ill and need help, come and tell me. If I can help I will, and I promise I won't insist on you coming to a surgery or hospital – that has to be your own choice."

Nell survived, and so did one or two others thanks to John's interventions. Holmes still came to us for assistance – life went on.

Then came that awful day – I didn't want to believe what Holmes was asking of us, that we help him to trick his friend (and ours) into believing he committed suicide – but his reasons were sound. John's life, and the lives of two others were in danger, and this was Holmes' last resort solution.

I pulled in faces that were less familiar to John, people that he didn't see often (if at all), and the girl Molly, from the mortuary, she supplied some with hospital scrubs. Holmes' brother supplied others with clean, work style clothes and they were to mill around in the area, preventing John from getting too close to the trick.

Finally, a homeless lad from Ukraine known only as Chitchi was given a rusty but working bike and told to do whatever was necessary to keep John away the pavement outside Bart's while the 'body' was set up.

I stood and watched from the railings by the park as John and Holmes spoke – I couldn't hear their words, but the doctor's face said all I needed to know. Fear, desperation, pain and horror all crossed that kind, expressive face, and as Holmes fell from the building and John rushed forward I saw Chitchi, his face set in determined lines as he sideswiped the doctor, knocking him to the ground.

It gave the others time to prepare the scene.

In the horrified silence that descended on the City I had to turn away from the scene before me. I could hear John's pleas to be allowed near the body, his declaration that this man was his friend, and in that moment I hated both myself and Holmes for doing this to him.

Later that night I received word that I was being looked for, that I was needed in the deserted market in Camden.

Holmes stepped from the shadows, dressed not in his usual suit and coat but in a hoodie and dark combat trousers. He slipped a large quantity of money into my hand, yet as I tried to protest that I didn't want his blood money he pressed a finger against my lips to silence me.

"No." He spoke softly. "This is to ensure you and the network have food enough to stay healthy while you do one last job for me."

I frowned up at him.

"Look after John, make sure he doesn't do anything rash." Then he passed me a slip of paper. "If he ever gives you cause for concern, phone this number. It will get you straight through to my brother – he will know how to help."

It has been three months since that night, since Holmes charged me with the safe keeping of his friend and ours….and tonight, as I have every night since then, I thank God that I've not had to make that call.


End file.
